Divides
The rocky divides of God
no longer fence us. We
grew our wings. We saw
that sky is but ocean turned
upside-down and any
deep-blue depth may be sailed.
On what tent-poles have
we hung the mountains, now?
What clouds sing onto
the valleys? We remain
unknown. We whisper across
the heights of each divide.
Stephen Brooke ©2014
Okay, another poem completed (in an early draft sense). Fussed around with this one for a few days. I think this is supposed to be Poetry Month or some such nonsense...I just write them when I feel like writing them.
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